Till Kingdom Come
by Potato Fairy
Summary: The man in the sunglasses was on the bench again, like he was every day. When the little girl finally got up the nerve to ask him, he told her he was waiting for an angel. Some Hurt/Comfort and a lot of fluff.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Till Kingdom Come**

**Warnings: Not a whole lot of anything. Very very slightly implied A/C.**

**Disclaimer: I own nada.**

**Characters & Pairings: Crowley, Aziraphale, a little bit of an OC.**

**AN: Hi! Okay so awhile ago I read over this fic while listening to Till Kingdom Come by Coldplay, and THE SONG LYRICS LINED UP PERFECTLY WITH WHAT HAPPENS IN THE FIC. I wasn't even thinking of that song while I wrote this! XD So you should do that. It's fun. Anyway, the little girl in this is an OC; I've decided her name is Alida- which means "Little Winged One" according to the internet.**

**Ok, I'll let you read now.**

_"For you I'd wait till kingdom come_

_Until my days, my days are done_

_Just say you'll come, and set me free,_

_Just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me."_

_- Till Kingdom Come by Coldplay_

The first day, the strange man was on the bench, hunched over as if to hide from the world. He wore a fancy suit and sunglasses, and a world-weary frown- that was exactly what the little girl thought was wrong with him. He was tired of being in the world.

The first night, the man didn't sleep. He returned to his flat and drank himself into oblivion.

o

The second day, she peered up at him with bright, innocent blue eyes. "Why do you sit here every day?"

The man's eyes snapped to her face, looking startled. He had strange yellow eyes, with slit pupils, but she wasn't afraid of him. They were pretty, she thought.

The strange eyes softened and he hissed out a single word, "Waiting."

The second night, the man didn't sleep. He drained another bottle and kept on waiting.

o

The third day, the little girl brought a bag of breadcrumbs, and boldly grabbed the man's hand and dragged him over to the duck pond. She snatched a handful and carefully sprinkled them over the water. The ducks fought over the food and stayed smugly on the surface of the water.

She smiled up at the man, who was watching the ducks speculatively, as if considering them and then deciding that they weren't quite worth the trouble. He still looked sad.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked him.

The man sighed and pushed his dark glasses further up his nose. "An angel."

The girl smiled and gently took his hands, looking up at the fluffy clouds. "My mummy says angels are always watching over us. I bet your angel is watching you right now."

The third night, the man didn't sleep. He stared at his ceiling all night, wondering if his angel was watching.

o

The fourth day, they fed the ducks again. "You know, they can hear you, if you talk to them. Mummy says they might even talk back!" the little girl bounced excitedly. The man scowled a little.

The fourth night, the man didn't sleep. He prayed until he lost his voice, then miracled it back to health and prayed some more.

o

The fifth day, they found a note on the man's bench.

_I'll always be watching over you. I'm sorry, my dear. I'll be back soon. I love you too._

A

"A is for Angel," the little girl said. "See, I told you your angel was watching you!"

"Yeah," the man murmured, "The bloody creeper."

The fifth night, the man didn't sleep. The angel hated coming back to a dusty shop.

o

The sixth day, the man didn't seem as sad. The little girl sat next to him on the bench and gleefully watched the ducklings, chirping about angels while the man stared at the sun through his sunglasses.

"At church, we put money in a basket. Mummy says it's like a present..."

The sixth night, the man didn't sleep. He went out and- ahem, _found_ a new book for his angel.

He was still a demon, after all.

o

The seventh day, a man with curly blond hair and a tartan jacket was sitting on the bench. When the man with the sunglasses arrived at the park, the little girl ran up to him excitedly. "Is that your angel?"

The man grinned snakily. "Yeah. That's him."

"But he doesn't have wings."

"Sure he doesss," the man hissed. You just can't see 'em."

He watched the little girl run up to the angel and ask to see his wings. Aziraphale smiled glanced at Crowley before spreading out his pearly white wings. (Normal humans wouldn't see them either way, but this girl was obviously special).

"They're so pretty!" the girl squealed. "Thank you, angel!"

The angel smiled.

Later on, Aziraphale and Crowley retreated to the backroom of the bookshop, opened a few bottles of wine, talked for hours about anything _but_ ineffability, and fell asleep leaning against each other.

The seventh night, the angel and demon rested.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: So...this is a little interlude thingy I felt the need to write. haha.**

Aziraphale sighed and sat down heavily, feeling powerless and frustrated. He glared at Raphael, who shot him an apologetic look and hurried on his way.

Aziraphale _hated_ being discorporated. He'd be stuck sitting in heaven for at least another few days. He let out a distinctly un-angelic growl, making a couple of fledglings yelp and eye him nervously.

"How in he- hea- on _earth_ could I let myself get discorporated...hate this...stupid, _stupid_..." the angel muttered, trailing off when the hissed prayers reached him.

_"Zira... Zira? I, er, I miss you... It's boring here without you, angel..."  
_  
"Oh, my _dear_," Aziraphale murmured.

_"Um... I hope you get back soon... I think the Bentley misses you... I love you..."  
_  
The angel smiled and went to find a pen and paper.

The prayers didn't stop.


End file.
